


the prayer of going nowhere

by crownedcarl



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Gen, Graphic Description, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Sexual Content, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:08:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcarl/pseuds/crownedcarl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"we'll fix this," ed promises, big-brother voice and big-brother look and big-brother responsibility in the way he announces it. "i promise you, we'll fix this. i'll make it right."</p><p>the change between we and i doesn't surprise al. he doesn't disagree, but he thinks ed will fix them both. he's good at that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the prayer of going nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> PREPARE FOR AN EXTREMELY NON-LINEAR NARRATIVE COMING UP WHERE SEGMENTS ARE SCATTERED FROM THEIR CANON CHILDHOOD TO THE FUTURE I MADE UP
> 
> inspiration derived from two fanfics in other fandoms and title + mood stolen from crush by richard siken
> 
> edit: i made slight adjustments to the writing on december 30th, 2014. summary edited 04.03.2016

sin is a concept al used to think he understood when he was very young and very small. sin was deception, and cheating, and actions that could be described with words like wrong and bad and shameful. sin was the lies he never told his parents, and the clutch of jealousy in his chest when ed got a peck on the cheek first. 

when al was very young and very small, his brother bigger by barely a hair, he linked sin to criminals, to people without morals, to people who lie and cheat and leave when they're needed, and his thoughts go along the lines of _father_ before they disappear. sin is for people who break the rules, especially the unwritten ones.

sin isn't his brother, wild-eyed and frantic, shouting al's name as he disintegrates. sin isn't ed with a determined jaw and hard eyes, set in the conviction of bringing their mother back, and sin isn't his brother failing when he tries.

(sin is the father that left, and the god that took their mother, but sin is not something al relates to his brother. his brother is bright hair and sunny smiles and certainty, and comfort.

the worst thing about being a soul trapped in armor isn't the sleepless nights or the hunger he doesn't feel. it's the lack of connection that ed tries to make up for with smiles and looks and jokes, but he doesn't bridge the gap, and al doesn't fault him for that.)

–

for all the care that they treat each other with, al doesn't think the way they spar is anything but normal in its intensity. 

it's not rough, precisely, like when al was a hollow suit of armor that could take any damage that ed dished out, but there's something charged and loaded and very, very feral to the way ed throws himself at al when the blows aren't even all physical.

ed's got the advantage now; al hasn't had his body back long enough to know what to do with it and he hasn't had his weight back for long enough to know how to center it, so he goes down and tugs ed with him, just for the sake of not falling alone.

"you win," he concedes, sighing, but he's not put-upon, and ed knows it. he answers the sigh with a grin, a familiar danger, the kind that makes al consider the consequences for half a second before following ed into anything anyway. 

it's comforting in its familiarity, startling in its intensity. al feels light-headed.

–

he is young. so, so young, because al has learned that naivete is not a path he wants to embark down again, but ed insists on getting his body back, and al's never doubted his brother. not ever, so he lends his support, and he believes - above all, he believes.

not in god. not in the god roy mustang mocks, or the one that commoners pray to in times of distress, but in his brother. al has faith in his brother.

there are nights where ed can sit and rifle through books and not stir for hours on end. al can do the same, but he doesn't need sleep - a curse that is sometimes blessing - and ed's eyes blink too often for him to be entirely alert. it's a normal night, dark and moonlit in their room, but al walks over on steady, heavy feet, and clasps ed's shoulder.

"enough, brother," he says, a gentleness to his tone that is customary with ed. "you need to rest."

ed shakes his head, but he stands when al tugs at his shoulder, hollow metal fingers fitted to skin and bone. "i think i'm really onto something," he confides to al, and al wishes his smile could be seen and not just something lost in the tone of his voice when he says "i know you are," sure in a way that he only ever is when it comes to ed.

ed's touch is tangible, but it connects dully. it is not pure sensation, the way al remembers and is starting to forget, but simple weight on metal that distantly registers.

it used to make al uncomfortable. now it only soothes him.

–

alchemy is about names. you put names to things, give them meaning; a hand on ancient script and curving symbols doesn't mean anything unless there's a purpose, a goal, something that's been defined and understood, then put into words of any and all languages, and al doesn't understand the meaning of it. 

he's young, still young, and he has two arms and two legs and his brother is grinning at him in a field of flowers and weeds that are as bright as his hair.

names. al is good with them - certainly remembers more of them than ed during future events, formal and informal; the names of generals and alchemists and people who rank higher than them and have smiles that don't always feel real. there's power in names, and al says "brother," and ed turns towards him like he always does, smiling at al, book lowered to his lap. al surveys the scene: twin beds four feet apart in a large, tasteful room, his brother's body on the one closest to the window.

there is no field of flowers, but ed's smile reminds him of that day. there is nothing dark here, it seems.

–

there is no shift – no apparent, obvious moment of sudden clarity – where ed's place as brother expands to accommodate what they mean to one another.

al doesn't know how to put a name to this. there are times where he wants to, with ed's mouth hot and damp and panting against his shoulder, or times where ed's hands are clutching at his hips and leaving behind marks that sting, but all al can do is gasp “ed” and he thinks maybe that's it, that that's the title that fits.

al likes to remember – to remind himself – and sometimes, when he can't sleep, he thinks of the day where he had put on enough weight and the sun was shining and ed was laughing loud and bright and joyful, and al had leaned forward to kiss him, like it was unconscious, like he had done it a thousand times and like he knew (hoped) that ed wouldn't startle away.

in the start, al's stomach wouldn't settle during moments like this. he wasn't used to the way that ed's hair would get silken and damp, or how it would darken with sweat and make al want to see it running through his fingers. other things, too - the way his muscles move beneath his skin makes al want to have a taste, and another, and then he wants to put his mouth on ed's strong thighs or the curve of his spine or his flat stomach and – god. god.

he fucks ed after sparring, once – more than once and more than twice and more than that, still, but - this is the first time and al's pinned to the floor, nothing but a body that aches and twists, and ed's face is cast in shadow, the glint of his teeth the only way al knows he's smiling.

“that all you got?” ed asks, smug, hands on al's chest. always on him, it seems, or al's focus has narrowed down to nothing but this, always, anywhere. “c'mon, al – that really the best you can do?”

his name comes so easily from ed's mouth, like familiarity and belonging, and al has tugged ed down to kiss him before he's comprehended the action or the way his limbs move to make it happen. and they've kissed before, and this isn't a story where everything is leading up to something bigger, scarier, but ed comes readily enough when al tugs him higher up on his body, and it makes him feel hot beneath his clothes.

al clutches at ed's hips, because – he feels helpless to do little else when ed bites at his jaw, tearing at his clothes, telling al to _stay right there_ and then shooting off into the bathroom, hair whipping him in the face.

 _brother_ , al thinks, when ed sinks down on him, after he's pushed oil into al's fingers and al's fingers into himself. “brother,” al says, a shaky and punched-out word, spread out between breaths like the space between ed's fingers on his chest.

he feels close to tears in that strange way he knows isn't from fear or pain or sadness; his eyes well up when ed makes a sound low in his throat, like a grunt, bracing himself on al's chest while his eyes slide shut in concentration. his eyebrows are knitted as he works towards a rhythm, and al thinks to grit his teeth together through a moan, but doesn't, because ed is so vocal and so warm and moving like he knows how and all of it makes al burn. it makes his body strain towards something unknown and terrifying and beautiful, wanting to be like ed, be as open as ed, as good at being like this, and al is spiraling higher, higher, higher -

as high as he can get when ed's shoulders move, strong and powerful, his eyes dark and wide and open. they're on al, looking, and al has always been able to read his brother's eyes. _look at me_ , ed demands with a wavering sweep of his lashes against his cheeks. _look at me_.

his face, young and shadowed and beautiful, is the image that burns behind al's eyelids long after he's come.

–

al doesn't cry - can't, as he is, but in the immediate aftermath, in and during the terror and pain of it, he comes so close he feels cheated. there are no tears when there is no body, but al gets one look at ed and the stumps of his arm and leg and while he does feel numb with it for a moment, reality quickly sets in and he makes a sound that sounds choked.

the equivalent of a sob, or a hysterical hiccup, maybe, but al only knows that the last thing he saw was a steaming corpse (not their mother, couldn't have been, al refuses to believe that) and then - then helplessness as something took him away, reduced him to nothing, an empty space where a boy who looked up to his big brother used to be.

he comes to, and he is not solid but hollow, large, and clumsy on feet that won't move and that aren't really feet. 

he comes to, and the room is filled with blood and noise, ed's screaming ringing in al's ears and through the air and his sobs vibrating through the metal of al's body when he stumbles close enough.

ed wails, and al notices that the new marks on the floor are written in blood and doesn't think about what that means. there's a measure of desperation and failure here that he doesn't consider, because it doesn't matter. his brother is on the floor, pained, on levels al isn't sure he understands -

his world doesn't narrow down, but it fades away, nothing but a dark room and ed's shrieks rooting al to reality.

–

ed's automail pains him when he wears it the first few times. there's adjustments to be made when the measurements aren't accurate enough, but ed's growing - however little winry likes to tease about - and the metal needs replacing, upgrading, tweaking when the cold sets in and oiling when it begins to leave. al doesn't say it, but it makes him feel less alone; he may be out of touch with the world in every way that matters, but ed can understand, even though al wishes he didn't have to.

"it looks good," al tells him, in the weeks where they're exhausted from mourning and regretting and praying. "it looks good, brother."

ed flexes his arm, and the fire isn't in his eyes yet, but al has nothing but time. he'll wait. the leg is unsteady when ed stands on it, testing the weight, the give of it, and then he walks, cool spread of his fingers settling on the crook of al's arm. "we'll fix this," ed promises, big-brother voice and big-brother look and big-brother responsibility in the way he announces it. "i promise you, we'll fix this. i'll make it right."

the change between we and i doesn't surprise al. he doesn't disagree, but he thinks ed will fix them both. he's good at that.

–

they live at a faster pace, after.

(there are many afters for them to count; after the failure, after the automail, after the first time they fight a battle they don't win.)

after, ed is quiet, for some time. the colonel who comes for them and that they learn to know as mustang senses something different in him, something that al hopes will come back in full, but for now the fire in his eyes is enough. when he gets his automail, ed throws himself into recovery, into therapy, does it for them both, and al is there even when ed doesn't want him or thinks al doesn't want to be there. it's often that ed doesn't want him there but acts like he does, forces smiles when he can't quite grasp the crutches or get the wheelchair to turn correctly, but al doesn't take offense like he's sure ed expects him to.

his brother might not have brought al back like he wanted, not to _life_ like they know it, but al is here and he is thankful. he is so thankful. every moment that ed spends buried in another book, another entire library - it's a step closer to _them_ , entire, and al is so hopeful sometimes that it makes him feel like a child who doesn't know better than to pray.

he is a child. if he had his body, ed would ruffle his hair, poke al in the ribs and draw him in beneath his arm even if al ever outgrew him for real - as a person, not armor.

these are his missed opportunities. sometimes it's enough that he can feel ed's body next to his when they have no research to do or reports to make, and most often it's during the night, when it's dark and quiet and peaceful and ed isn't plagued by possibilities and the lack of them.

"hugs," al mentions during their downtime. ed doesn't glance over, but al knows he's listening despite the absent tap of his foot against the floor, where his knee meets the curve in al's armor. "i - i remember hugs. i think i'll want one of those before any item of food when we get my body back."

ed smiles. "noted," he says, and he sounds less sad than he usually does when al mentions something he wants from the physical, human world.

the world ed lives in is physical, despite it all. al is good at waiting.

–

there is a kingdom here, between the sheets; between ed's pale body and his bright eyes, the places where al gets to love him – like this. like this, with ed's legs thrown over al's shoulders and his hands tearing holes in the sheets, the good, expensive ones that don't matter when ed is panting like that.

his body moves like an animal's, wild and erratic and hard, twists of muscle and twitches of skin that make al's throat close up on noise that will tumble out filthy. ed's head is thrown back, his neck arched, the tendons standing out beneath his skin, and al can't bow down low enough to mouth at them, but he drives into ed harder, fucks faster, chases unintelligible sound and profanity from ed's lips -

“christ, there – right fucking there, al, k-keep doing that - “

and other things, quieter things; ed usually says them when he's a second away from coming, and al bites his own lip hard enough to bruise to pay attention to just that.

“not gonna beg – not gonna – not – oh - “

there's always some sort of noise. tonight, it's al's name, and the darkness swallows it whole.

ed's eyes are blown wide, and he looks shocked when al pulls away and splays out next to him, shaking. ed is shaking, too, an imperceptible thing, and he swallows thickly, blowing out air in a rush.

al puts his hand on ed's chest, grounding.

this is the first time. this isn't love, entire. this is a brother that has become a whole world to al.

ed quiets, settles. when minutes later, he says “wanna go again?” al doesn't do anything but match his smile.

-

al thinks he misses dreams; even the strange ones that never made sense would be a welcome reprieve from nights that only drag on to the sound of ed's soft snoring and loud grunts as he shifts in sleep. al would like to dream, but all he has for now is conscious thought, and the sweet fantasy of another time. not the past.

he likes to imagine the future, what it'll be like, but al is starting to forget his own face, and it's hard to picture himself next to ed when they're older. harder and harder as ed changes; as his hair grows longer, his scars paler, his eyes sharper.

how old will they be, he wonders, when al gets his body back? what state will it be in? will he even be capable of running alongside ed, of sparring with him, doing things that are a given as they are now? will he be able to protect ed, then, like he does now?

will ed be taller than him, al wonders, and there's a strange tightness in his chest.

–

it is unfair, al thinks, that of all the things he can't feel, fear isn't one of them.

he fears for his brother's life, time and time again. he fears that edward won't make it (and he's only ever edward when al's head is spinning and his heart racing, all figuratively, and when there's the threat of blood and death and pain and god, no. god, please, no.

not again. not ever again.)

–

brother isn't supposed to mean boy who you love – not like this. not ed between al's legs, body lean and corded and glistening in the light from the window, the one that likes to paint him gold when it hits him just right. al's eyes can't stay open when ed's mouth is on him, like this, around him like something al used to think was dirty but that only makes his heart race, now. strands of hair hang haphazardly in ed's face, obscuring his eyes, caressing his cheeks, and al makes a helpless sound that reminds him of being young and scared and he's neither, now.

all he is now is - 

“ _ed_ ,” he breathes, pleading, fingers knotted in the hair at the back of ed's neck, where it's come free of his low ponytail. al's legs are taut with tension, trembling, muscles struggling not to seize and buck up into ed's mouth, even though ed likes it like that. he likes every and any way that al gets with him that means he wants him.

al's head is thrown back in some form of prayer, or desperation, or something else that ed is good at pulling from him. when ed looks up, one hand warm on al's hip and the other firmer and pushing down against the bone, all he can see is the fast working of al's throat, the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows and strains against the bed.

al shudders, the motion drawn from him by the cold metal against his skin, ed's leg pressing against his own with the forward skid of a knee, and sometimes he likes to pretend that's the only reason why, but then ed bobs his head down low and al's voice gives way to a groan, a whine, a litany of names that all amount to _ed_ and _brother_.

 _it's all i am_ , he thinks belatedly when his orgasm is wrung from him and his head is pulsing with it. _it's all we are_.

–

this is the future. not as al imagined it, the few times that he did, but the future where somehow, he has a body and his brother has most of his own. this is the future they earned and carved out together, where there's bright rooms in a small house with big windows, and a warm bed that hold two bodies as the rain comes down softly on the earth outside.

al wakes before ed. he always does - more sensitive to sound, or maybe because sleep is so foreign, still, that the slightest thing jerks him back out of it - but it is more slow waking than it is sudden awareness.

his head is on ed's shoulder, the place where he used to be a mess of scars and metal and skin. the drapes are open and the sky is gray, and al smiles, a soft curve of lips against the swell of muscle beneath ed's skin.

al looks at him. he takes these secret, stolen moments for himself, because they're the memories he'd like to keep. his brother is asleep, hair caught on the corner of his mouth, tangled in sleep. this is his brother, skin warm beneath a white top, skin warm beneath al's hands. this is his brother.

"wake up," al says. it is not a demand. ed stirs, body shifting, and al didn't know he could cherish a moment like this until he had enough of them to know he'd be afraid to lose them. "ed," al prods, splayed along the length of ed's body, mouth on the dip of his throat. "ed. it's morning."

"it's raining," ed counters, sleep-rough and harsh, one arm slung across his eyes, the other one winding around al's back. 

"no way am i getting up. or out. dream on."

al shrugs, an awkward thing with the proximity, ed's hand sliding down the curve of his spine, a touch that attests to how awake he currently is. his arm lifts a little - the one that hides his eyes - and he peers at al, slow and discontent, and it slowly fades to something else even as he huffs and throws a pointed glance out the window. "i'll rust," ed says, a note of finality in his voice.

al laughs and presses a kiss to his jaw, fondly exasperated. "you're being childish," he informs ed, baiting, but ed only hums a low note of agreement and al is tugged back down to splay across ed's chest, a demanding pull that puts him close to ed's heart.

"i have my body back," al says. "i'd like to get some use out of it, brother."

ed's eyes are as golden as the leaves in autumn when he looks at al. "so c'mere," he prompts, and like always, al comes.


End file.
